Chapter One

       Lost and Frightened

      It was dark outside, and cold, at five o’clock on Tuesday, 1 February. I was expecting a six-year-old boy to arrive with his social worker at any moment. Indeed, I’d been expecting them for the last hour. Danny was coming into foster care and Jill, my support social worker, had given me some details about him over the phone two days previously. As well as being six, I knew he was an only child who had learning difficulties and challenging behaviour, which included meltdowns, tantrums and aggression, and his parents – unable to cope any longer – had approached the social services. Danny was coming into care under a ‘Section 20’, also known as accommodated or voluntary care, where the parents agree to the move and retain full legal parental rights. The hope was that Danny would eventually be able to return home.

      I was in the kitchen preparing dinner. My children – Adrian, fifteen, Paula, eleven, and Lucy (soon to be adopted), thirteen – were upstairs in their bedrooms, hopefully doing their homework before they watched television or generally relaxed. As I worked I listened out for the doorbell signalling the arrival of Terri, Danny’s social worker, with little Danny. If all had gone to plan Danny’s mother would have taken some of his clothes and toys to his school at the end of the day, where she would have met with Terri, explained to Danny that he was coming into foster care and said goodbye. It would have been an emotional and upsetting parting for mother and son, but they would be seeing each other regularly. Jill was going to arrive with the placement information forms once Terri and Danny were here. However, when the telephone rang I guessed things weren’t going smoothly. Experience had taught me to expect last-minute changes, even if the move was planned, as Danny’s was.

      ‘I’ve just heard from Terri, Danny’s social worker,’ Jill said. ‘There’s a problem. Danny became very distressed when they told him he was coming into care, even though Terri handled it sensitively and stressed he’d be seeing his mother regularly. Apparently he kicked his mother and ran off screaming. He’s somewhere in the school grounds. Terri and the staff at the school are looking for him. Hopefully they’ve found him by now. His mother was too upset to stay and went home. Terri has asked if you can go to Danny’s school and collect him. She thinks he’ll feel a bit better once he’s met you.’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘I’ll leave straight away. It should take me about fifteen minutes.’ I knew from the information Jill had already given me where Danny’s school was.

      ‘Thank you,’ Jill said. ‘Can you let me know when you’re home with Danny? If it’s too late for me to visit I’ll come tomorrow.’

      ‘All right. Will do.’

      We said a quick goodbye and I hurried out of the kitchen and upstairs to where my children were. Thankfully they were old enough now to be left for short periods. When they were younger and I was called out at short notice, as a single-parent foster carer I had to take them with me, which at times was quite disruptive for them. Now, however, I knocked on each of their bedroom doors, stuck my head round and said, ‘Jill’s just telephoned. I have to collect Danny from school. Can you keep an eye on the dinner, please? I should be back in about an hour.’

      They knew Danny was coming to stay and that plans in fostering could change without much notice, so their responses were: ‘Yes,’ ‘OK,’ and ‘See ya later,’ followed by a chorus of ‘Bye, Mum.’

      Downstairs again, I quickly slipped on my shoes and coat and, grabbing my bag and keys, headed out the front door. I felt the adrenalin kick in and my pulse quicken as I jumped into my car and then drove in the direction of Danny’s school. Poor little mite, I thought. He went to school as usual this morning, expecting to return home to his parents at the end of day, and then his mother and a social worker arrived to tell him he’s going to live with a foster carer – a complete stranger. How devastating, especially for a child like Danny, who already had problems. Little wonder he’d run off. I hoped he’d been found and was calmer now.

      I turned into Yew Road where Danny’s school was and the first thing I saw was a police car parked outside, with its lights casting a moving glow over the front of the school building and nearby houses. With a stab of fear I thought the police’s presence must have something to do with Danny. I parked in the road, a little back from the police car, and got out. His school, Yew Primary, like many in the area, had a small tarmac playground at the front and grass playing fields at the sides and rear, which were flanked by shrubs and trees. As I hurried along the pavement and then across the front playground I could see torch lights flickering over the playing fields to the right of the building and hear voices calling, ‘It’s OK, Danny! There’s nothing to be frightened of!’ and ‘Danny, are you there?’ So Danny hadn’t been found and was still out there in the cold and dark.

      I went in the main door, which was no longer security locked as it would have been during the day, and then through the empty reception and into the corridor beyond. All the lights were on, but it was eerily quiet and empty. I didn’t know the building, but the layout was clear. It was single storey and I hurried along the corridor towards the door that led out to the playing fields. All the classrooms I passed were empty. School finished at 3.30 and I assumed the staff that hadn’t gone home were probably on the playing field looking for Danny. I pushed open the door at the end of the corridor and stepped outside. A security light flashed on overhead. I could see three torch beams flickering along the edges of the fields as they searched the shrubbery, and male and female voices were calling Danny’s name. Then one female voice came closer.

      ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, stepping out of the dark to stand beside me.

      ‘I’m Cathy Glass, Danny’s foster carer.’

      ‘Hello. I’m Terri, Danny’s social worker,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming. It’s a nightmare. I called the police. There are two officers as well as some of the staff looking for him. The police and the caretaker have the torches, but there’s no sign of Danny. Goodness knows where he is.’ In the light of the security lamp I could see Terri looked very stressed and worried, with good reason. She was average height, mid-thirties, with short brown hair, and was dressed in a quilted winter jacket and jeans.

      ‘How long has he been out here?’ I asked.

      ‘Nearly an hour now. He has